ROSESTAR
Dozens of eyes blinked up at him in the morning sun as Rosestar settled himself on his familiar perch. He let his eyes sweep over the cats gathered below. It was best to let them sit and squirm for a few extra heartbeats, let the suspense percolate, and in those few moments he would watch…
Young Nettlepaw, he couldn't keep his paws still. Splitears and Rooktuft sat as close to the Hollow Ash as they could, practically stumbling over each other in their race to the front. Goosebelly was conspicuously absent, which meant he was most likely still dozing in the warrior's den, or off somewhere he shouldn't be. Perhaps he would send Elderheart to make him jump.
Rosestar let his gaze wander to the nursery, where Longscar was giving him that long stare again. She's not long for the elder's den. The old scratching post is getting bees in her brain. He might as well be looking back into some fresh-kill's blank, glassy eyes, and it gave him the shivers.
He turned back toward the Clan now, still feeling those blue eyes sear into him, and finally launched into the ceremony.
"Jaypaw, step forward."
The long-haired apprentice stepped forward, although she looked like she might just as quickly bolt out through the camp entrance. Rosestar kept his gaze steady on her as she padded to the base of the Hollow Ash, her clanmates parting to let her pass.
It had been just over a moon since her mentor had gone.
"I, Rosestar, leader of LeafClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend them to you as a warrior in their turn."
The surprise was clear on her face, and he didn't blame her. Leopardfoot hadn't approached him yet about her being ready for her warrior name, and no doubt, there might be a few gaps in her training. But she was too close to switch to another mentor now, and he needed to fill those now-empty nests in the warrior's den before the next Gathering.
There would be gossip from the other Clans in their absence, and he knew his own clanmates would not guard their tongues well enough to hide the story. He preferred to give news about LeafClan's strength instead.
Besides, a new mentor would only call Leopardfoot back into every cat's mind. This would restore some cheer.
"Jaypaw," Rosestar mewed, "do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?"
"I do," she answered, faint as a whisper.
"Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Jaypaw, from this moment on you will be known as Jaywind. StarClan honors your skill and patience, and we welcome you as a full warrior of LeafClan."
The Clan cheered her name, new and old denmatess closing around her to offer their congratulations. That was the morning's drudgery out of the way.
"Now, who is joining my hunting patrol?" Rosestar asked, starting toward the camp entrance.
Half a dozen cats scrambled after him.
In the end, he managed to trim his patrol down to Asterstripe, Greeneyes, and Larkfeather, who raced every pace of the way with him.
Unbroken pale gray skies followed them, and soon a fine, formless mist that bedewed their fur, spotting the ground and the grass and the leaves. Rosestar paused to glance over a lone, yellow leaf among a green bough. Leaf-fall. The elders spoke more and more about its coming, if the shift in the stars and changing of the moon didn't lie, it would be upon them before they knew it.
Right now, the forest still seemed teeming with greenleaf sights and sounds, the rustle of prey and chitter of birds.
The mist turned into a light drizzle as Rosestar's patrol continued on, burying a squirrel, a jaybird, and two sparrows that he and Greeneyes ambushed simultaneously. Despite the rain, they kept stalking from dry patch to dry patch, almost to the border.
Twolegplace did not lie far beyond. Peering through the greenery, he could almost see one of their strange wooden walls, and near scent the stench of the horrible beasts they rode on.
"Say, Asterstripe," Rosestar mewed. "How far did you bring Rowanthorn? Near here?"
"Up as far as the Horsepath, to the mouth of Twolegplace," the warrior answered, poking his head up through the foliage.
"And be honest now," Greeneyes said with an edge of mischief in her voice, "how many tears were shed for the poor rogue?"
"None of mine," Asterstripe purred back. "Except what the dust tickled out."
They all let out a hearty mrrow of amusement.
"What did you say when you parted?" Rosestar asked.
Asterstripe tilted his head in long contemplation before giving a curt, emphatic, "'Farewell.' If every 'farewell' added a season to his banishment, he would have had as many farewells as he could stomach."
Another round of chuckles rose up from Rosestar's patrol, but the leader only gave a flick of his tail. "He is LeafClan, and that makes him our blood. If only he would remember his old friends."
They had been practically apprenticed together, raised in the same nursery, earning their warrior names in the same season. It was just Rosestar's luck, and, well, talent that had him named deputy, and then leader. A young cat climbing the Hollow Ash, where an old one had sat for how many moons.
Afterward, it was as if Rowanthorn never was close to him again. He was a fine warrior, but envy was an unbecoming quality.
It had been Briarstalk's idea to exile him and Leopardfoot both, whispered in his ear the night before, but he'd dismissed it entirely until he saw both warriors tumbling across the earth, clawing and spitting, blood flecking the earth…
"Well, he's gone, and all the rainclouds he brought with him," Greeneyes mewed. She padded at the earth as they paused in a ferny clearing, the warriors taking a moment to groom their ears and the moss and grass from their paws, and Rosestar shook the scene out of his memory. "How about our preparations for the raid on MireClan?"
Rosestar welcomed the shift in conversation. After all, that was half the reason he called the raid. LeafClan camp had been almost dead after the twin banishments, and with Squirreltail's death just before that. He needed to wake their blood and direct their attention somewhere.
"Soon enough, before the full moon," he assured her, "with me leading the raiding party, and HillClan warriors by our sides."
"HillClan?" Larkfeather echoed with surprise. "Why should they fight with us? Can we trust those snake-tongues?"
"I've made an arrangement with Duskstar." He was not so much of a fool as to plunge into the heart of MireClan territory without assuring victory. "Some of the border hills, conquered in Stormstar's day, in exchange for their aid when I call it."
"Giving away LeafClan territory?" Asterstripe wondered aloud. "I wonder how the Clan will take that news."
"They'll take it as they should. When was the last time you were fast enough to catch a hare, Asterstripe? Hares and thorns and trouble from HillClan, that's all that those hills are." Rosestar waved his tail. "We'll be well rid of the daily climb."
His ears pricked up at the rustle of undergrowth, pivoting his head toward the sound, and the rest of the patrol followed, standing to their feet. But it was Briarstalk's scent he caught on the wind, and her brown tabby face which emerged from the greenery.
"News from camp, Briarstalk?" Rosestar asked, getting to his paws.
"Old Lionpelt's fever," Briarstalk breathed. "It won't be long. He asks to see you."
"Has Murkpool laid him in the medicine den?" What started as an innocent whitecough in the elder's den had lingered and refused to release the aged warrior, and now had him in its killing bite.
Briarstalk answered with a heavy nod, and Rosestar stood up straight. Then it was time. "Come, then. Let's go see him."
He took an easy pace as he started back toward camp, the rest of the patrol flocking in behind him with idle chatter.
Let's make haste and pray we come too late.
The rain became a steady pitter-patter against the leaves by the time they returned to camp. Rosestar ducked through the bramble tunnel, past the sentry, and already saw the mass of warriors near the mouth of the medicine den.
Murkpool's den was a low, spacious dip in the earth, where some ancient stream might have hollowed out a course around the roots of an old, sprawling rowan tree. Hanging moss draped the entrance, with Beethorn, Hawkwing, and Owlswoop emerging from the pale green curtain with drooping whiskers.
Other warriors gathered outside, his mate for one. When Ivyflower saw him, she rushed to his side.
"Oh, Rosestar, you've heard?" she mewed in distress. "Paleface said he looked so unwell. I can scarcely believe it! I don't even remember Lionpelt ever being sick, he was always so strong…"
His mate had a sweet and feeling heart, he knew that for sure. Rosestar nuzzled his cheek against hers, linking their tails in a swift, intimate gesture. "The strongest, and he still is," he told her. "Come, let's go see him together."
Rosestar and Ivyflower slipped in first, Asterstripe, Briarstalk, Greeneyes, and Larchfeather following. The overwhelming scent of herbs overwhelmed his senses, almost enough to perfume the air and mask the scent of death.
But there was Lionpelt, victor of so many battles, lying heaving on the rushes. Rosestar's deputy, Elderheart, stood over him in a stoop-backed vigil, head low with grief. It was dim as the new moon beneath the den roof, only thin speckles of light piercing the rowan leaves.
The world turned to grayscale.
"Please, this is not a Gathering," Murkpool urged from a shadowed corner. Trickles of rainwater at the far end of the den collecting in moss clumps for fresh drinking, dried herbs laid in pockets of leaves, nestled among the rowan roots. "Only some of you at a time."
Rosestar and Ivyflower stepped in alone, crouching to the deputy and the dying elder's side. Lionpelt was curled up in a ball, his nose tucked into his tail, but he raised his shaky head with a rattling cough at the approach of his leader.
"Rosestar, Ivyflower, I am glad you've come in time," Elderheart whispered with a reverent nod of his head toward them both.
"How are you, Lionpelt?" Ivyflower asked gently.
"Yes, how is it with Old Lionpelt?" Rosestar mewed. He could almost glimpse his ribs through his coat. "When you break this sickness, I fear I might have to rename you Gauntpelt."
The elder managed a weak purr, gold eyes glowing as he lifted his trembling head. "Yes," he mewed. "Old and gaunt, that I am. Starved of my son's looks."
Rosestar felt his hackles raise, a prick of fire in his belly, but controlled the expression on his face. "You're in spirited humor."
"The healthy flatter the sick and dying," Lionpelt said between hacks. "But you, you are near sick and dead as I am."
Elderheart and Ivyflower exchanged an uneasy glance, and he could sense how the old deputy began to bristle with apprehension.
Rosestar only met him with a blank gaze, lashing his tail in agitation. "I wonder if Murkpool would agree with that," he said with constrained sarcasm. "You were always a great warrior, Old Lionpelt—not so much potential as a medicine cat."
"No," Lionpelt, the fever lighting behind his green eyes. "No, Rosestar, I see you sick. Sick in reputation, ill in honor, dead to sense. Flatterers have sealed up your senses to the world around you." He wheezed on the last few words, sucking in deep breaths. "I spend these words in pain, wasting my dying breath on your ruined ears, so that you might listen for the first time in your life.
"If Stormstar could have seen how you have tainted his Clan, he would have never named you in Blackfang's place! His LeafClan that subdued the entire forest during his life, and made our enemies quake in fear, has made a conquest of itself under you. You are leader of your circle of rogues, not leader of LeafClan, and you—"
"A lunatic, fever-mad fool," Rosestar hissed, shooting to his paws. "If you weren't helpless on your deathbed, and not my clanmate, I'd tear out your throat for speaking to me this way."
"Spare me your foxbreath," Lionpelt growled back with another fit of coughs that convulsed his entire body. "Clanmate blood you've spilled already, staining your heart even now. A plain, well-meaning warrior, true and loyal to LeafClan. My littermate."
Rosestar felt his blood run cold, hackles rising.
"Live in shame!" Lionpelt roared, straining his throat. "But let your shame not die with you! Remember these words when you go to meet your warrior ancestors, to answer for all the wrongs you've done." Lionpelt flopped back into the rushes, breathless, eyes pressed shut. "Now give me poppy seeds and let me die."
The leader whirled and left, wordless and quivering with rage, almost blind as he barreled out of the lichen curtain and into the open air. The rain was steady, but still, half the Clan was gathered around the mouth of the medicine den, half-soaked as they waited to pay their final respects to the dying elder.
They parted out of his path, seeming to avoid his gaze as Ivyflower ran after him.
"Rosestar!" another voice called. Elderheart followed his leader out into the rain, rushing to his side. "Please, chalk up Lionpelt's words to age and sickness. He loves you and LeafClan, only—"
"Yes," Rosestar interrupted with a sharp exhale. "Yes, of course you are right, Elderheart. As he cares for me, I care for him. Let it be as it is."
As much care as dogs had for cats.
"Rosestar!"
He stumbled to a full stop this time as yet another voice called after him, biting back a hiss. Rosestar turned to Nightbird, the black tom's head low. "Lionpelt is on his journey to Silverpelt," the warrior breathed. "He's breathed his last."
Elderheart let out a low groan, tail drooping to the ground and shoulders slumping at the news. Tears were indistinguishable from raindrops.
So much for that. Rosestar acknowledged Nightbird with a blink, flicking his tail. In an instant, he'd made up when the raid would take place. Now. "Let's not have grief distract us long. We attack MireClan tomorrow—see that Murkpool has his herbs stocked. Elderheart, you will stay behind in camp while I lead the raid."
The old deputy, so faithful and industrious, stood in front of him like a sullen apprentice. "How long should I be patient?" he mewed. "Rosestar, I have never challenged your judgment. Not after Squirreltail's death, not Rowanthorn's exile, not Lionpelt's words, or whatever your favorites have whispered to you, overriding my own advice as your deputy…"
Rosestar rounded on him now. "What is the matter, Elderheart? What are you talking about now?"
"I am the last of my litter now," Elderheart said, voice heavy. "Blackfang was my littermate, and you have his same eyes. He was the fiercest warrior to grace our time, and I see his fierceness alive in you. But Blackfang never turned those bloody looks on his clanmates."
Another dodderer in the leaf-bare of their lives, enamored on the memory of Blackfang's ghost. The leader who never was. They all looked at him and dreamed to themselves about what could have been. Rosestar clawed up the moss, eyes blazing, but lost for a response.
"And Stormstar and Blackfang fought battles to gain new hunting grounds," Elderheart added with the hint of a growl. "They did not give up hunting grounds to fight battles. Yes, I heard about your scheme. Were you not going to share that with your deputy? Whose idea was it, Larkfeather's?"
Rosestar lashed his tail. "Think what you will, this is my command!" The words exploded out of him with unexpected rage, making Ivyflower and Nightbird jump, but it washed over Elderheart like the late greenleaf rain.
"I only speak with truth and loyalty to you, Rosestar," Elderheart said. "Be careful of your next steps. You are treading a thorn-filled path."
The leader flicked his ears. "And you've been an ever faithful deputy, Elderheart. But you're an old deputy for a young leader. When you retire to the elder's den after this raid, do you agree Paleface will make a fine replacement?"
Elderheart blinked, mouth parting and closing, wordless at the sudden shift in conversation. Off-balance.
"Yes, I thought so too," Rosestar mewed without waiting for an answer. "Lionpelt's old nest will suit you even better than it did him—Elderheart the Elder, how amusing. But I would like to save the ceremony until after some proper heroics, and you will watch the camp in our absence."
"I will see to the preparations," Elderheart said flatly, disappearing without another word.
Ivyflower gave a low groan. "Oh, Rosestar, take some time to yourself! When you get into this temper—"
"Yes, yes," Rosestar mewed. "Be sweet and pleasant and quiet, Ivyflower. That will help soothe my heart. We'll have to be apart soon."
The queen just gave another heavy sigh, trotting off. Nightbird seemed to do his best to stare into the rainy clouds and pretend he was a fresh-grown shrub in the scenery as Rosestar turned and clambered up the Hollow Ash, yowling to the storm-tossed sky.
"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Hollow Ash for a Clan meeting!"
Cats gathered around the base, many sitting crouched beneath the camp walls for some small shelter from the wet weather. Rosestar let it run in rivulets down his pale ginger fur, digging his claws into the soft bark.
"Lionpelt is off to join his warrior ancestors," he meowed. "A victor of many great battles. Tonight we will sit vigil over his body and honor his memory. And tomorrow, with Silverpelt watching over us, we will refurbish Lionpelt's name and fight with his spirit, and remind MireClan what kind of warrior he was!"
That earned a few wild yowls of approval, and that was well enough for him.
"Paleface, Asterstripe, Splitears, Rookftuft, Jaywind, Dovepaw, and Thrushpaw, you will fight with me. Elderheart will watch LeafClan camp in my absence, and this time tomorrow, we will be sending MireClan warriors flying over their sun-forsaken bogs. Now, prepare yourselves!"
Another chorus of yowls raised up to the sky, as Rosestar's eyes searched for every face that didn't join in.